Life Rule #2981: Make-Up & Exercise. A Match Made In Heaven
Have you ever wondered what a clown might look like after being dropped into a dunk tank? Well, look no further! Actually, it might be best to never go hunting for that visual given it’s entirely terrifying; I only wanted to provide the best analogy for today’s 2,981st rule of life. Please take out your textbooks and follow along.
Men and women sure are peculiar beings are they not? Seems we’re constantly scratching our heads over what the opposite sex’s thought process was considering specific decisions. Today’s topic revolves around women who choose to doll themselves up prior to a highly intense exercise regiment. I can trace my first encounter with a powder keg all the way back to my first gym membership. Woman, workouts, and makeup inexplicably go together like peas and carrots, if the carrots were painted. Perhaps a more proper analogy would be an Easter egg. The undertaking of dressing the egg serves no purpose other than to make said egg look marvelous. The egg is easily spotted and chucked into a basket with nary a second thought. We move on to hunt for the next egg. Alright, let’s all agree that that was an atrocious comparison. With two swings and two misses during this at bat I’ve got one more strike. Here goes nothing. Women layered in maquillage (oh faaaancy!) - screw it - I just used the word maquillage as a substitute noun for the world makeup. That’s a full count, two outs, bottom of the ninth grand slam. I’m rounding the bases. I’ll see you fools in the champagne room after the game to celebrate that victory.
I suppose I understand (to a certain degree) that one’s body image has been thrust to the forefront in today’s society, so the pressure to appear stunning during all waking hours is higher than the inside of an Insta-Pot. Now listen, understanding doesn’t necessarily equate to agreeing. In fact, I couldn’t disagree more. Yes, it’s certainly more enjoyable to experience anything aesthetically pleasing, whether that be an object OR a subject, but it doesn’t define any one thing. Go through your beauty prep work before a dinner date or a night out on the town, but know that no amount of mascara is going to get you those extra reps in the gym.
I’m fully aware a gym could be considered one of the perfect arenas for prospective singles to work on their mingling (I really wanted to tie single, mingle, and Pringles into a Dr. Seuss moment, but I held back), however I’d have to counter that if you’re one of these misfit toys who goes to the gym ONLY to flirt and NOT to polish up your cardiovasculars, well then you’re just an asshole. We’re then likely best served roping the same pea-cocking yahoos curling in front of the mirror into this conversation as well.
The athletic club certainly claims a piece of real estate within the list of establishments where people watching is top notch. Alas, we’re not taking a trip to the zoo to visit all of the animal exhibits; we’re here to witness the king (or queen) of the jungle. Back to the task at hand: face-painted goobers.
From time to time I do quite enjoy a brief history lesson. There is plenty we can learn from any/all that came before our time. The trouble with today is exactly how much of the content we see plastered across the world wide web reliable? What can we really believe ? We’re not going to use up our time tonight mulling over that gargantuan question; instead we’re going to relish in the fact that this is the Flannel Axe, and we approach very few topics with consequential intent. Doesn’t mean we can’t try!
Seems as though we can trace the road to cosmetic’s beginning back to the Egyptians (shocking). Luckily I found no reference to magicians, yet it wouldn’t have shocked me in the least. If that slight reference isn’t ringing any bells I implore you to take a trip down memory lane and read through this article one more time. Are we all singing the same song now? Excellent. Egyptians. They’re use of makeup consisted of your standard “run of the mill” tools. Ground beetles, clay, urine. Purposes ranged from warding off evil spirits (we’ll revisit that phenomenon again one of these days) to fading freckles on the face. As we traveled through history, as with many rituals, cosmetics took on many other desired outcomes. Damn near put a bull’s eye on a prostitutes back, and hey, still does today to a certain degree. I’m ever so slightly nudging my judgement toward our lead actresses for tonight’s show and their relation to harlotry. You’re a pauper of the night if you Last of the Mohican’ed your face directly before heading to the gymnasium.
Now before I get too carried away and nosedive this entire article toward the choppy water of Negative Town, we should respect a woman’s right to walk out of her door on her way to anything looking anyway she pleases, and if that means making us believe she’s on her way to an audition for the Bozo Show instead of a workout, then so be it. Well shit, looks like our next stop was Negative Town after all!
Perhaps it’s a matter of personal preference. I happen to feel much more of an empowering vibe coming off of a gal who strolls into a workout packing a no-nonsense attitude with nothing but the Lululemon clothes and her back (tights and tanks appreciated….and preferred….I am a guy for Christ sake) and that ready-to-rock look in her eye. You’re there for one reason and one alone: kick ass and take names. She’s out to do more push-ups than me, and she’ll probably succeed with a tenacious stance like that. If women today demand to be seen and treated as equals then roll up the sleeves and drop the proverbial hammer! I leave my eye shadow in the medicine cabinet when it comes to exercise, so why shouldn’t you? You’re at the gym to get in shape, not in my pants. That part of that date comes after dinner and a movie. You simply cannot look good ALL of the time, that shit has to be exhausting; certainly more exhausting than an actual workout.
The only premeditated activities that should go into a trip to the gym are filling up a water bottle and doing your best to walk in sober. The only thing worse than banging out a grueling set of burpees is banging out a grueling set of burpees with an entire bottom shelf of liquor swishing around in your stomach. You can forget about looking cute while hopping through your jumping jacks if everyone within spitting distance of you gets a whiff of what can only be described as the smell of a concert venue’s floor after the encore. Stale. Nausea.
Let your male (or female) counterparts marvel at your superhuman strength as you toss around those dumbbells like a set of juggling pins. The flirting and courting can come later and often times will naturally occur. See, what I don’t quite understand is where you aim to set the bar. You can’t layer up 24/7/365. I don’t know any sane gentleman who’d volunteer to wake up first thing in the morning and roll over to look at the face of a sleeping mime. Can there be a more terrifying moment in a man’s life? On second thought, there would be one other scenario even more haunting, and that would be waking up next to the same mime only they’re not asleep; they’re laying there trying to get out of that imaginary box. I’m shuddering right now. In either case, witnessing a mime in the real world is spooky enough; now picture one lying on the pillow next to you gazing lovingly into your eyes, imaginary box or not.
Is the point crossing home plate yet (not sure of my reasoning for multiple baseball references in this post)? If not, let’s get dorky. Louis Lane didn’t fall for Superman. Sure, he’s sexy and unstoppable and he wears a cape, but we all know more times than not she’s going home to mild-mannered Clark Kent. And I’m betting Rachel Dawes had no qualms with being whisked around Gotham in the arms of the Dark Knight, however she was more interested in locking down Bruce Wayne. Leave your capes at home ladies. The bat signal only comes out in the direst of times and journeys to the gym do not fall into that category.
Your exceptions to this life rule are the Jane Fonda’s, Richard Simmons’, and Jillian Michaels’ of the world, but they’re all powdered up for the fourteen cameras following their every aerobic move. So leave the painting to Bob Ross and let’s focus on getting down and dirty.